


The Frost

by Rhiannon1199



Category: Uprooted - Naomi Novik
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Teaching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:26:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon1199/pseuds/Rhiannon1199
Summary: The Wood is at peace again and ready to sleep for the winter. As the cold draws in Nieshka knows she must leave the Wood to hibernate, hurrying to cleanse as much of the residual corruption as she can. But with Sarkan back in the Valley and in complete denial about their relationship, her narrow bed in the Tower offers little respite from the cold.Still, after settling into a new dysfunctional normality, Agnieszka and Sarkan soon find their world uprooted again by a beacon fire from Dvernik. When magic awakens in Nieshka's nephew, the pair must find a way to break the barriers between them and teach a four-year-old boy how to control his power - and everything else a four-year-old boy needs teaching.
Relationships: Agnieszka/The Dragon | Sarkan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have no idea where this is going. Well, I have AN idea, but it would involve a lot of writing. So, we'll see. But here goes!

The season turned quickly that year, the whole valley sinking into rich red and gold within a few weeks of the harvest. Each morning was hazy with mist, the spider webs shining with the first clusters of frost, the evenings darkening quicker and quicker. The Wood was falling asleep whilst the last of the heart-tree fruits fell from the branches and the creatures became quiet and withdrawn. 

'It's as if you _want_ to freeze to death,' Sarkan remarked by way of greeting when I returned to the tower after a night in my cottage. 

'It's still only frosty in the early morning,' I argued. 'I may as well carry on my work before the snow comes.'

'And then what?'

'I'll stay here.'

He looked up from his book, the corner of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. 'I don't recall inviting you.' 

I shrugged, setting my basket down on the desk and shrugging the cloak from my shoulders. 'Or I could go back to Dvernik, of course, if you wouldn't miss me too terribly.'

'Oh no, I would be lost without you traipsing forest dirt all over my carpet,' he sighed, pointedly looking down at the dark smears of leaf mulch on the floor. 

I grinned. 'It gives it character.' 

We still hadn't talked about anything. It hung in the air between us in the quiet moments, a question unasked and unanswerable by us both. I think we both expected the other to bring it up at some point, and so neither of us did. Sometimes, when we were both sat reading in the library, my mind would wander off and think about that rose illusion spell, the feverish heat of his hands around mine. Sometimes I would glance at the spot where we'd toppled onto the floor afterwards and he had kissed me. Then I would think about that night I had climbed into his bed and all our reservations and stubbornness had fallen away at last. The air would grow tense, as if he knew what I was thinking. So I tried to stop thinking about it. 

When he had showed up in Dvernik I didn't know whether to be happy or terrified. We danced a little and drank a lot - too much, in my case. I remember him carrying me to bed in my old narrow room and laying me down with uncharacteristic confusion on his face, pulling the sheets over me and leaving. The next morning, I stumbled down to the kitchen, made coffee and slogged my way back up to the library. He was there, bright and alert, a tome in his lap, full of his usual snark. Like nothing had happened between us.

A light outside the window caught my eye - a flame in the distance, dancing urgently on the high brazier in Olshanka. I hurried to the window and looked out across the valley, my heart thumping in my chest. 'The beacon fires are lit!' I heard Sarkan slam the book down on the table and he appeared beside me in a second, his face grave.

'Dvernik,' he said. ' _Again_. Come on.'

I grabbed his arm and we stepped from the library straight into Dvernik's market square. Danka was already waiting for us, her face a picture of fear and sadness. 

'Agnieszka,' she said. 'It's your nephew. It's Danuchek.'

I felt the blood rush from my head. 'What is? What's happened?'

Danka began to walk quickly, gesturing for us to follow. 'One minute he was playing with the other children, then an older boy began to tease him. He lashed out. Now…well, see for yourselves.' 

To my horror, Danuchek was huddled in a ring of icy blades, a boy of around six encased in frost and fixed in a terrified scream. I hadn't realised I was still holding onto Sarkan's arm until he pulled away from me and with a gentle wave of his hand thawed the ice encasing the child, then melting a way through the rings of spikes surrounding Danuchek. We approached cautiously and I beckoned for my brother Jarek and his wife Gosia to come through the opening. They rushed in and scooped Danuchek in a tight embrace as the other boy let out the rest of his piercing shriek. 

My heart sank as I watched them hold Danuchek tight, reading the words straight from Sarkan's face.

'He's a wizard,' I breathed. 

Jarek looked up at me. 'Nieshka...how…are you…' He trailed off, hot tears hitting the frozen ground. 

'The gift is strong in your bloodline,' Sarkan remarked grimly to none of us in particular. 

'You won't take him?' Gosia pleaded. 'You won't take our boy, not so young - '

'The King's law is absolute. He must be taught.'

'No!' cried Jarek. 'My lord, he's only four years old!'

'And I was younger still,' Sarkan replied, bluntly but not unkindly. 

I caught my mother's stare from amongst the crowd. Her eyes were red as she leaned into my father's side. I stepped forward. 'We have nothing to fear from the Wood now,' I said to Sarkan. 'A day or two won't hurt to prepare them.'

'The Wood is not what concerns me. As long as his power goes uncontrolled he is a danger to everyone in this valley.'

Anger flared up in Jarek's face. 'This family has already lost one to you.'

A shocked murmur went around the crowd and even Gosia stared at him in disbelief. The villagers seemed to draw back in fear as the shadows gathered around Sarkan's features, drawn into the lines around his eyes, in the black of his eyes. 

'I should put you in stocks for addressing me so brazenly,' he hissed. 'Fortunately for you, I have no desire to see the brother of a witch humiliated. Do not test my mercy nor my patience again.' He turned to me, the darkness melting away from him. 'He must come with us today. They have until sunset.' 

**********

It felt so wrong - the village gathering round to watch Jarek and Gosia cry as I took my nephew's hand and tried to explain to him what was happening. It was like I was the villain in the tower now, the tyrannical overlord of the valley, snatching children from their families. Eyes that had once looked warmly on me now harboured a distinct, cold detachment. 

'I'll bring him home every week to stay the night,' I promised my family. Gosia just nodded, wiping away her tears, quietly resigning her son to his fate. All three of my brothers - Jarek, Tobiasz and Maksym - looked at me a way I'd never seen before. Resentfully, maybe. 

As if he sensed the ball forming in my throat, Sarkan took my hand and pulled the three of us back into the warm library. 

'I want Mama,' whispered Danuchek, his little hand falling away from mine and sagging at his side. 

'I know,' I sighed, trying not to shed a tear. 

'He can have any of the guest chambers,' said Sarkan. 'We begin first thing tomorrow morning. He should rest.'

Sarkan melted away into the shadowy stairwell, leaving me to bend down and envelop my nephew in a tight hug as tears streamed freely down his tiny, ruddy face.

'Shh,' I hushed. 'It'll be alright. We're going to teach you lots of new things, and you'll get to see everyone soon, and - ' A gentle sob came from his throat, silencing me. I knew it would do no good. Nothing helped. 'Come on, little man. Let's get you to bed.'


	2. Chapter 2

My bedside drawer was still littered with the remains of unsent letters. I ought to have thrown them in the furnace weeks ago, but there was a strange, sad comfort in the scribbles and crossings out, the clumsy words, the creases and smeared ink. I rifled through them for the hundredth time, the sharp dawn light striping across the pages. One had ugly blotches all over it from the tears I'd cried that day; Sarkan leaving had upset me, and I was even _more_ upset that it had upset me at all, which only made me cry more. 

I'd watched him go, throwing his case into the waiting carriage and pausing as the driver opened the door for him. As if, maybe, he was hesitant. As though he might just look up and see me. But he didn't - he climbed in and that was that. I wandered through the tower afterwards, the library cold and lifeless without its brooding, studious master lurking at his desk, the laboratory eerily silent without any bubbling from within. I'd grimly descended into the kitchen, having resolved to distribute its contents to the valley's poor, and pack up and leave myself. But not before sitting at his desk, in his chair, and pouring all my silly thoughts out into letters I would never send.

_Sarkan,_ one began stiffly. _I hope Kralia is treating you well._ I cringed, flicking the page over to the next one, and the next, and the next. _…I hope you don't mind me writing…I intend to go to the Wood and purge whatever corruption is left…Why did you really leave?…You are missed…I miss you…_

No wonder I hadn't sent any of them. I could just picture the sneer on his face. One night in someone's bed doesn't mean anything, after all. Does it? Maybe it did to me.

This stupid arrangement, if you could call it that, was worse than when he wasn't here at all. Those moments that stretched out between us like aeons, the looks that lasted a little too long, the way he leaned over me whenever I pointed out something in a book, the heat of him, close enough to touch. The way every time those black eyes fixed on mine, my belly fluttered and my legs felt weak, my chest hollow. I laid in my bed at night, wondering what he would do if I kissed him, or crept to his bed again. 

I shoved the letters back in the drawer and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, trudging to the guest room where I had left Danuchek, tapping on the door and creeping inside. I frowned - the curtains had been neatly tied back, the bed precisely made, no sign that he'd been there at all. I checked the other guest rooms, panicking, but they were all the same. I hurried to the library and burst in, about to start blubbering, when I saw my nephew perched on a chair, eyes fixed on a large, dusty tome of crisp yellowed pages that Sarkan was reading from. Both looked up at my intrusion, Sarkan raising an eyebrow.

'It's half past seven,' he noted, gesturing to the old gilded clock. 'You're late.'

'It is?' I panted. 'Has Danuchek eaten?'

Sarkan rolled his eyes. 'Yes, of course he's eaten.'

'It's just that he has a routine - '

Sarkan waved an impatient hand. 'Yes, yes, and he'll soon settle into a new one. Your breakfast is by the fire.' 

He began to read again, and I grumpily prodded over to the fireplace, pouring myself a steaming mug of coffee and the porridge left on the warm hearth - with honey and cinnamon and cherries, just the way I liked it. He remembered how I liked my porridge?

I shook off the silly thought and slumped into an armchair. _It's just a bowl of porridge, for heaven's sake._ 'What are you reading him, anyway?' I asked.

'Glicynia's Occult Philosophy,' he answered. 'And then we will move on to Systems of Magic, then Fundamental Hermeticism, and then Magical Stoicism.'

'Sounds a bit heavy for a four year old,' I remarked.

'Not when explained correctly.' 

I resigned myself to silence as Sarkan thumbed through the pages, Danuchek listening intently as he traced a finger along each line, taking the intricate complexities of magic and somehow distilling them down to their most base and simple roots. Danuchek never listened to anybody, a tearaway child as I was once, wild and unyielding to his parents, to my parents, to me or my other brothers. Not even Danka's authority seemed to bother him, and yet Sarkan seemed to have him locked in a trance, tame and quiet. Danuchek looked up at his new teacher with awe shining in his big eyes, as if he had met his favourite character in a fairy tale. But then again, Sarkan was just like a character out of a fairy tale, the anti-hero, the dark mage stealing village girls only to save his people from the wrath of the Wood. I suppose that made me the stupid sidekick.

It felt like hours had passed by, the light inching its way across the room as the sun trundled through the sky. I flicked through books, whispered little illusion spells, creating a nightingale to sit in the palm of my hand and sing. I smiled down at it and whistled along, too lost in my work to notice both Sarkan and Danuchek staring at me, until the former cleared his throat. The nightingale flitted away and landed in front of them, singing an old lullaby. Danuchek's face lit up and he held his tiny hand out for the bird to perch on. 

'More, more!' he demanded joyfully, carrying the bird over to me.

'Okay,' I laughed, humming a little tune and letting the magic build up within me, flowing out through my fingertips, drawing light together to form leaves that fell all around the library. They were blurry and browned, but Danuchek didn't seem to care, trying to catch each one before it faded into dust. 

I didn't notice Sarkan had come to my side until I felt the brush of his hand against mine, and the surge of his power tearing through me in a wave. A million leaves rained down all at once, sharp and glorious red and gold. I drew in a breath and interlaced my fingers with his for the first time in what felt like forever - he hadn't so much as touched me since the day he returned from Kralia. He took up a low chant over my humming and the flow of magic steadied, rhythmic and whole, like my roots had finally breached the icy ground and sprouted new green shoots, reaching up into the sky until their flowers bloomed. I tried to fight the desperate need that his magic made me feel as it pulsated through me, not daring to look him in the eye. 

When he began to pull away I couldn't help myself but grasp for him. I heard his breath catch a little, but he stubbornly withdrew his power from me bit by bit, untangling his hand from mine, his voice growing quieter until it stopped altogether. I finished humming my lullaby and let the last leaves fall shimmering to the floor. Only then did I turn to look at him at all, his black gaze fixed on me, drinking in the sight of me. I could feel his magic even now, trying to leap out of his skin and reach mine. That was one thing we could never hide from. 

'Danuchek,' I said, turning away to face my nephew. 'Come and help me with lunch.'


	3. Chapter 3

The next few days went by unremarkably – I spent them watching Danuchek stammer unsuccessfully through a few cantrips, reading, baking, sewing, anything ordinary I could occupy myself with. Anything that involved having absolutely nothing to do with speaking to Sarkan. Still, I couldn’t help but throw the odd glance his way, occasionally finding him already looking at me, only to hastily turn his sight on something else. Every time I caught his eye I swore I could feel my magic bubbling inside, starved, withdrawing, as if addicted to the feeling of colliding with another power. I wondered if he felt it too.

I seized the chance to flee the tower on Friday evening, whisking Danuchek back to Dvernik in one smooth lurch. I looked back at the pale moonlit body of the tower, the faint pinpricks of light from its windows, my thoughts soon interrupted by Jarek charging towards me.

‘My boy!’ he cried, taking Danuchek out of my arms and spinning him around in the air. I gulped on a lump in my throat; my hardened, stalwart brother, tears in his eyes at the sight of his son. He finally looked at me, holding on to Danuchek tight.  
‘How has he been?’ he breathed, the resentment still in his stare, though a little softer than before.

‘He’s doing well,’ I answered. ‘No casting yet, but that’s not unusual. The Dragon has been teaching him theory, mostly.’

Gosia came rushing towards us and enveloped Danuchek in her arms, letting tears flow freely from her eyes. My mother and father soon followed, coming to my side, each placing a reassuring hand on me – I was not an exile, not hated, not a child-snatcher.

‘Come inside,’ my mother said. ‘Out of the cold.’

I stole one last look at the tower, an unnatural band of cloud gathering above it, feeling the taste of magic in the air even from here, in the winds that flowed through the valley from the monolithic tower to where I stood. Shaking off the thought, I stepped into the warm glow of the house and slumped down at the table, smiling at my mother as she set a hot cup of tea in front of me.

‘What is this theory stuff he’s been learning, then?’ Jarek asked stiffly, an attempt at polite conversation – maybe even an olive branch.

‘Well…occult philosophy, Hermeticism…’ I trailed off at the sight of blank eyes fixed on me. ‘I don’t know much about that side of it, to be honest. Sark – I mean, the Dragon never managed to drill it into me. But Danuchek takes well to it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so quiet,’ I added with an awkward laugh.

‘He isn’t scared?’ Gosia asked, still holding Danuchek on her lap. ‘You know…of him?’

‘No,’ I answered truthfully. ‘In fact, he’s taken quite a liking to the Dragon.’

‘I learnt lots, Mama,’ Danuchek said, staring up at Gosia. She beamed down at him and Jarek ruffled his hair.

‘And he’s not impatient?’ said Jarek, furrowing his brows.

‘Not at all.’

‘Really? He was with you.’

I grimaced. ‘I was an untidy, half-wit seventeen-year-old peasant girl who couldn’t learn anything the way he tried to teach me. Danuchek’s a cute little boy who soaks up knowledge like a sponge.’ I looked down at my tea, at my reflection in its perfect, tan surface, my hair already a mess from a mere few minutes in the wind. I sighed to myself and took a sip, cradling the cup in my hands.

‘I’m going to get him home and in bed,’ Gosia said, scooping drowsy Danuchek up. ‘Are you coming, love?’

Jarek nodded and followed her out of the room, bidding goodnight to our mother and father. He paused in the doorway and looked back at me, offering a curt nod. ‘I know it isn’t your fault, Nieshka.’

I offered a sad smile. ‘Thank you.’

The door clicked shut behind them, a gust of cold air blowing through the house, the candlelight flickering. ‘Will you stay?’ my father asked.

I should have been prepared for the question – they asked me every time I set foot in Dvernik – but instead I found myself hesitating. Should I stay, or go back to the tower, or even go to the Wood? ‘I’m not sure yet,’ I answered.

My mother cleared her throat. ‘We could do with some more logs for the fire, dear,’ she said. ‘The cold has come in tonight.’  
My father nodded in his understanding – she wanted me alone. He made himself scarce to chop the wood, leaving me and my mother by the hearth together.

‘I’m worried about you, Nieshka.’ I stared into the dancing flames, sipping my tea again. ‘The memory of battle weighs heavily on you, I know…’ I shuddered at the mention of it – the siege of the tower, cannon-fire and arrows, the savage heart of the Wood, the mantises, the blood and the smell of burning flesh.

‘I’ve made my peace with the Wood,’ I replied. ‘I’ve lived in it, tended to it, tried to heal it the best I can. It’s Sarkan I can’t make peace with.’

She took my hand in hers. ‘I know you are no longer a maiden, my dear. You don’t need to hide it from me,’ she added when I opened my mouth to retaliate. ‘By God, Nieshka, you’re a witch – a lady of Polnya – and a hero to everyone in this valley. Nobody cares enough to judge you for it, and we all saw the way you danced with him that night, the way he looked at you.’

‘I don’t know how he looks at me,’ I grumbled. ‘Some days I think he looks like he can barely stand me.’

‘He can’t stand his pride being robbed,’ she chuckled. ‘I may not have a century or more to my name, but I’ve lived long enough to tell when a man is in love with a woman.’

I scoffed. ‘In love?’ The words sunk through me, heavy and laced with unwelcome feelings, painfully settling in the pit of my stomach. ‘Not a chance.’

‘Are you in love with him?’

Kasia had asked me the same thing in a letter weeks ago. Of course I had told Kasia everything, from the first kiss to the night in the siege, the way he had held me in the Wood and carried me out, only to run away to Kralia, leaving all the ends loose, all the questions unanswered. I had written back to her and said that if that kind of love is meant to feel like coming home, then yes.

My mother squeezed my hand. 'All will be right in the end.'

My father came stumbling through the door, lugging a load of firewood. A light snowfall had begun, flecks of it clinging to his shoulders, a few flakes flurrying in as the door swung shut. 

'I think I'll go back to the tower,' I said. 'Any problems with Danuchek, just light the beacon.'

'Okay, love,' my mother said.

'Will you be back tomorrow?' my father asked eagerly. 'We're decorating the candle tree in the square.'

I smiled. 'I'll be there.' I hugged them both and stepped out into the snow, already thickening on the ground. The candle tree loomed over me, strangely ominous without its lights and decorations. I cast my eyes to the tower and stepped through the cold night air into the warmth of the library, bringing chunks of ice with me on my boots.

'He shouldn't be left unattended,' Sarkan grumbled, not looking up from his desk. 

'He was half-asleep by the time I got him there. They'll light the beacon if they need us.'

He placed his quill back in its pot and gave me a doubtful look. 'And what if he's already speared somebody with an icicle by then?'

I rolled my eyes. 'He's with his mother and father. No one is going to anger him and make him lash out.'

He slammed his book shut and tucked it under his arm, making his way to the door. 'Don't blame me if somebody ends up dead.'

'You're just trying to get rid of me because of the other day!' I blurted. He paused in front of the door and turned slowly, eyes narrowed.

'Don't flatter yourself, Agnieszka,' he hissed, then stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I sunk into an armchair, feeling stupid, tucking my knees under my chin. The snow fell thickly outside, once holding so much joy and enchantment, now bleak and lonely. The fire died. I held back the tears that brewed behind my eyes and let out a long, shaky breath.

'In love,' I muttered to myself. 'What a load of muck.'


	4. Chapter 4

I lingered on the edge of the circle of villagers around the candle tree the next morning, pulling my cloak snugly around myself. Even now, I felt removed from them, no longer a true part of their community, a familiar outsider at best. My mother's home was no longer mine, my brothers resented me, Kasia was half the world away. Everything had changed. 

_I don't know what my place is in this world anymore,_ I had said in the letter I wrote to Kasia the previous night. _I don't know where I belong. I don't belong in Dvernik anymore, and I certainly don't belong in Kralia. I thought I could belong in the Wood, but it sleeps all through the winter. Then, for a little while, I thought I could belong in the tower, but I don't think I can stand to look at Sarkan much longer._

'Hold onto the ladder!' Danka ordered a couple of village boys as she reached to the top of the tree to place the star. She wobbled on the flimsy step ladder, turning ghostly white as a gust of wind blew through the square. I held a hand over my mouth to hide the grin that crept onto my lips.

The snow had lain a thick white blanket over the whole landscape. The tower almost blended in to the mountains and hills around it. No unnatural clouds above it today, no lightning flickering around its roof, no lights shining out from inside. It looked as deserted as it had for the months Sarkan was in Kralia. 

'Nieshka!' my mother called, waving me over. I smiled and trudged through the snow to her side. She handed me a steaming cup of tea and kissed my head.

I nodded up at the tree. 'That's got to be the biggest one we've ever had.'

'Well, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but your father 'borrowed' it from the edge of the Wood. He thought it might upset you.'

I chuckled. 'I'm sure the Wood won't miss one tree.'

'I told him it was too big. It's going to take ages to put all the candles and ribbons on.'

I stepped towards the tree and cupped my hands around my mouth. 'Danka!' I shouted up. 'You'll fall to your death! Let me help!'

I grabbed the box of ribbons from under the tree and began to hum Saint Vaclav's Carol, channeling a thin stream of magic into the box which billowed out as it lifted ribbons into the air. I envisioned each one tying itself to the branches, neatly and evenly spaced, from the top to the bottom. The surrounding crowd marvelled as I worked, children reaching up to the ribbons as they floated in the air. I smiled and let the spell settle and close as the last few were tied onto the tree, Danka landing back on solid ground. I turned to face the clapping villagers, only for my breath to catch in my throat.

A pair of familiar black eyes watched me from under the hood of a deep red cloak. No one seemed to have noticed Sarkan lurking at the back, only turning to look at what had suddenly robbed me of my smile. They fell silent and parted as he took his hood down and let the light fall over his face.

'What are you doing here?' I demanded, hands on my hips. The nerve - to speak to me the way he had, and follow me to Dvernik the next morning!

'I need to speak to you,' he answered.

'Well, I'm busy.' A few murmurs went around the watching crowd - surprise, maybe amusement, that I would, and could, speak to him like that without reprimand. It only made me feel more like I wasn't one of them. I gestured around. 'Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of them.'

His jaw tightened. 'Don't play games with me, Agnieszka.'

'I'm not. Say what you have to say.'

My mother cleared her throat and uncertainly waved her hand. 'Why don't you go into the house and talk?' She caught my eye, shaking her head in the direction of our door. 

'Fine.' I stormed past, knocking into Sarkan a little as I headed for the house. The gathered villagers burst into a rumble of conversation as they watched us go, gossiping whispers and mumbles of disapproval. I shut us inside, glad to be away from the heaviness of watching eyes. 

'So?' I bit, folding my arms. 

'I came to apologise,' he began. 'For what I said last night.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Apologising? That's a first.'

He scowled. 'Don't be petty and childish. I haven't come here for another pointless spat.' 

'Then why did you come here? Just to say those words?' I looked up at him properly, his stare alone less bearable than all the prying eyes of Dvernik. The house was painfully quiet, the space too intimate, saturated with my memories. It felt like a violation for him to stand here in my mother's home, inches away from me, close enough to feel the heat from him, catch his scent of smoke and pine, close enough to touch…

'Because I didn't want to sit around all day waiting to say it,' he answered disappointingly. 

'Oh,' I muttered. 'Apology accepted, I suppose. Not that it was out of character for you, anyway.'

He narrowed his eyes. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'That you've done little but insult me since the day we met!' I exclaimed, throwing my arms wide. Something flashed in his eyes - something like hurt, and a little like embarrassment. Regret, maybe. 'Some of my favourites are 'slovenly' and 'horse-faced'. Not,' I spat as he tried to interrupt. 'That it stopped you from having your way with me!'

A dark rage spread across his face. 'As I recall, _you_ were the one who crawled into my bed!' he hissed. 

'And did you stop me? No. So, Sarkan, you're either desperate, or you're a liar. Maybe both!'

He pushed me up against the wall, shadows gathering all around us, a strange hunger in his eyes - like the look he had given me the other night, only with anger mixed in. Our faces were close enough that I could taste the honey on his breath, feel his heat pounding against me like the midsummer sun. Without thinking, I reached up and traced my finger along the line of his jaw, my magic desperately jumping against my skin. I used to fear his fury, until I discovered there was no bite in it. Now it amused me at worst, and excited me at best. Where I had once feared his touch I longed for it. He could close the gap between us, carry me to the table, rip open the front of my dress…

But he did none of those things. He withdrew from my touch and pulled up his hood, not taking his eyes off me. 'You will stay here until Monday,' he breathed. 'When you bring Danuchek back. I do not wish to see you within ten miles of _my_ tower before then.'

I grinned at him, madly, a ripple of laughter escaping my chest. His face was flushed, his hair ruffled, the outrage on his face intensifying as I cackled. He turned and swept out of the house, leaving me slumped against the wall, half-laughing and half-crying, all at once delighted and disappointed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!

Midwinter came and passed, the snow still coming down every night for weeks. I spent most of my days distributing supplies from Olshanka to the cut-off villages further out, where the snow was too thick for carts to pass through and too treacherous to walk between. I left the tower one early spring morning, picking my way along the icy road. The sunlight caught the ice crystals on the first clear day in over a month, a few snowdrops poking their heads above ground. I'd noticed the shift in the earth a few days ago as it stirred from its long sleep. Soon, the snow would melt away, and the tracks through the Wood would reopen. 

I had no need to walk the two mile stretch of road to Olshanka - I could easily have used magic - but it gave me time to let my thoughts flow uninterrupted. Kasia had told me she was taking Stachek and Marisha travelling and would be away from Gidna for a while, and no more letters had come for several weeks now. I was lonelier than ever, exchanging as few words as possible with Sarkan each day, Danuchek being my only company when he was done with his lessons. 

'You need to try and talk to him,' my mother told me as she stirred a cauldron of broth over hot coals in the village square that afternoon. 

'I have,' I grumbled. 'A whole lot of good it did.'

She tutted. 'Yelling at someone isn't the same thing as talking to them, dear.'

'Well what am I supposed to do when he starts yelling first?'

'Be the better person,' she answered with a shrug. 'One thing that makes the difference between a toxic love affair and a stable relationship is respect. When he starts raising his voice, you don't shout back at him, you tell him to calm down and talk to you _like a grown up_.'

'Well then _he_ should know better!' 

'And so should you,' she sighed. 'He's been alone in that tower with nothing but an ordinary servant girl for company for a century. He's not used to anyone interfering in his space. And from what you've told me, he's come on leaps and bounds since you first went there.'

I rubbed my hands together and stretched them out towards the fire. 'It feels like every time something changes for good, not a week later it goes right back to the start.'

'Have patience, my love. Things could be worse.'

I let out an annoyed huff. 'How?'

She gave me a pointed look. 'You are a very privileged young woman, Nieshka. You have a loving family for one. You're a witch, a member of the royal court, and you have in your hands the power to make kingdoms rise and fall. You'll never go hungry or cold again. And on top of that, you've got a chance - however difficult things may be - to be with someone you love, live in the grandest building in the valley, and jointly control this entire region of Polnya. Count your blessings.' 

'You're right,' I admitted, hanging my head. 'I sound selfish.'

'It's easy to be blinded by the bad things.' 

Something stirred in the still air, a harsh, frigid wind starting from nowhere, clouds pulling together above our heads. We huddled under our cloaks against the sudden, bleak chill, like the midwinter had returned in all its force to wage war on the sun. A thick flurry of snow began all around, coating over the grassy patches in moments, each flake and gust of air tinged with the crackling of magic.

'Danuchek!' I realised, fighting my way through the blizzard towards my brother's house. I kicked down the door, struggling to stay attached to the ground, blundering into their tiny wooden home. The place was overturned, the hearth cold and lifeless, frost coating everything in sight. Jarek and Gosia knelt huddled and freezing over Danuchek's limp figure on the floor.

'What's going on?!' I shouted, fighting to close the door on the wind. Finally it clicked into placed, creaking in protest. 

'He threw a tantrum and…' Gosia trailed off, despair in her eyes. 'This pulse of energy came out and now he's…is he…'

'Help him,' my brother pleaded. 'Whatever it takes, help him.' 

The winds died down outside, the cloud cover giving way to broken sunlight. Seconds later the door flew open, and Sarkan rushed into the house, kneeling at Danuchek's side.

'He's overspent,' he determined. 'Severely.' He took Danuchek into his arms and began to work, whispering words of restoration. The clear lines of his magic thrummed through the air, ordered and clean, sweeping away the cloud of chaotic power that clung to my nephew's tiny form. 

'It all happened so fast,' Gosia sobbed.

We watched with bated breath as Sarkan held a hand over Danuchek's mouth. 'He's not breathing.' 

Jarek caught Gosia as she stumbled, trembling uncontrollably. I hurried forward and knelt opposite Sarkan, placing my hands on his shoulders, offering my power in the silent exchange of a grim stare. He took up his chant again, drawing from the vast lake of magic within him, and I let my own be the rain and the springs that fed it, fat droplets of my power catching the light as they pooled into his. I felt his resistance build up between us, a dam that blocked the waters from merging. Swallowing my reluctance, I gently tilted his chin so he was looking into my eyes, until the bricks crumbled, my magic spilling into him. I hummed under his chanting, not breaking eye contact once until a small cough sounded beneath us. 

Danuchek awoke confused and bleary-eyed as we drew the spell to its close. Sarkan looked away from me quickly, building those walls back up in a second. How it must be to be able to build a wall around you, stop life's winds and rain from coming in, only to block out the sun as well.

'He cannot stay here,' Sarkan announced to Jarek and Gosia. 'And he will not return to Dvernik until I am satisfied that he can dissociate his temper from his magic.'

Jarek glowered, taking a step forward. 'We have a right to see our son. You have already taken most of him from us.'

Sarkan waved an impatient hand, unfazed by my brother's threatening glare. 'I have taken nothing. Your son has the greatest gift a parent could hope for. With that gift comes a sacrifice.' 

'My lord,' Gosia pleaded. 'This is his home.'

'And when he is fit to return, he may,' he responded. 'Twice now he has proven to be a risk to others. I will not subject myself to being summoned every time I allow him to return to you, nor will I allow the child to bear the guilt of accidentally freezing somebody to death.'

And finally I understood, in that instant, why even if I had tried to negotiate with Sarkan, I couldn't have - he didn't want Danuchek to wipe out the whole of Dvernik with an outburst of fear or anger. He didn't want Danuchek to live with guilt and blood on his hands, like he had to live with the Fire of Varsha. 

'Nothing to say?' Jarek hissed at me. 'No wish to defend your own family?'

'He's right,' I answered calmly. 'If Danuchek doesn't end up killing someone, when the spring comes in properly, he'll kill off the seedlings with the cold. We'll starve come harvest-time.' Jarek went to turn away, his fists balled. 'But,' I added. 'Why not just come to the tower? I can fetch you.' 

Jarek paused. I glanced at Sarkan, hoping he wouldn't protest the arrangement. Not that he could have justified it if he did. 'Fine,' Jarek spat. 'It's not like you leave us a choice.' 

I held on to Sarkan's arm as he caught my eye, a wordless invitation to leave. He paused, clearing his throat, and addressed Jarek and Gosia. 'If I could have this another way, I would.'

Before they had a chance to respond, we were in the library again. I sighed and let go of Sarkan's arm, my head swimming with thoughts. He carried Danuchek to the couch by the fire and set him down, propping his head up with cushions. I watched, distracted by the strange gentleness that possessed his face as he looked upon my nephew's sleeping form. 

'I'll fetch him some blankets,' I mumbled, heading for the door. 

'Wait,' he said. I turned back with a huff. He stepped closer to me, hands folded behind his back. He looked confused, even embarrassed, giving his face a boyish look that was unsuited to his manner. 'I am sorry. For everything.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'Including at Midwinter?'

'Yes,' he grumbled. 'And all the other times I've thrown insults at you, or made you feel stupid, or behaved like a petulant child over my systems being messed up.'

'Self-reflection,' I chuckled. 'That's new.' I swept out of the room, grinning to myself like a satisfied cat, to find a blanket.


	6. Chapter 6

' _Olmakoz_ ,' Danuchek whispered, holding his little hand out to the paperweight on the desk. It folded in on itself and out of view, wrapped in its own pocket of existence, still there, but not _here_.

'Better,' said Sarkan, waving a hand through the empty space where it had sat. Danuchek had already overcharged the spell three times, almost folding the entire library out of the world once, breaking a window, and nearly dragging himself into the pocket. 'Less is more, especially when it comes to minor transfigurations. Now I want you to bring it back.'

' _Kayiz_?' Danuchek wobbled. The paperweight returned to its seat, smashed into a dozen pieces. I turned away to hide my grin at Sarkan's sigh. 'I did it wrong again,' Danuchek grumbled.

'It doesn't matter,' Sarkan said. 'You are making progress.'

'I can't do it!' Danuchek wailed in protest. A rumble of magic passed through the library, threatening another snowstorm.

'Calm down,' Sarkan warned, kneeling down to his height. 'I have some errands to run in Olshanka,' he said gently. 'Would you like to come with me?' 

Danuchek nodded sulkily and whimpered a little. Sarkan smiled and ruffled his hair, then looked at me. 'Are you coming?' 

I shrugged. 'I may as well.' I summoned a thick fur cloak to wrap around myself, savouring its warm, silky touch on my skin. Danuchek reached out for it, the gleam returning to his eyes. 

'And me!' he insisted.

'You can do it yourself,' I told him. 'Do you remember the word?'

' _Vanastalem_!' he triumphantly cried, a fine embroidered black tunic and cloak enwrapping him, with fur-lined boots and gloves to match. If it weren't for his shaggy brown hair and freckled complexion, he might have been Sarkan in miniature. I chuckled to myself and pinched his cheek.

Danuchek swayed slightly as we stepped from the library to Olshanka's market square, still not quite used to the travelling spell. A few people jumped back from the spot we had just materialised in, quick to offer polite greetings to Sarkan, eyeing me and Danuchek strangely. The people here were still wary of me, one of them but not quit, with the appearance of a scruffy valley girl but magic clinging to the air around me. They knew I would never live among them again, whether I was in the tower or in the Wood. They knew that I had the ear of the young king, counted among his most loyal. And they knew that unlike them, I would never grow old.

'My lady,' one old woman greeted me uncertainly, offering me a warm pastry from the basket in her hand, an ancient and wise glint in her eyes. I beamed at her and plucked two from her basket, passing one to Danuchek.

'Thank you,' I said. 'But please, call me Agnieszka.'

The old woman grinned at me and gave Danuchek a strange look, cat-like and almost smug. She turned away, waddling off to a market stall. 

'Rozmaryn Chlebek,' Sarkan said, staring after the old woman. 'She's a local wise-woman. Never thought much of me, but good opinion is not something I have sought from others.' 

He pulled us in the direction of a crooked street, keeping his arm linked in mine. I stole a few glances up at him but he looked stubbornly forwards. Danuchek ambled next to me, picking crumbs off his cloak.

We came to a shop with hundreds of brightly coloured books stacked on its shelves, all old and worn, the pages delightfully yellowed. It smelled like a thousand stories, like dust and ink, cramped and inviting. 

'My lord!' the shopkeeper greeted with a wide grin from halfway up a ladder. 'And my Lady Agnieszka,' he said, bowing his head to me. 'You must be here to collect your order.'

'I am,' Sarkan responded. 'Any problems?'

'Not at all. I am only sorry I could not deliver it to the tower. My cart could never make it across that damned ice on the road.'

'It's no trouble.'

The shopkeeper disappeared for a few minutes, the clamour of falling boxes and pained grunts sounding from the back room. I caught Sarkan's eye as he suppressed a smirk.

'Here we are!' the shopkeeper announced as he emerged with a wide box of tomes, carefully arranged with the spines facing upwards. Each one was bound in intricate, colourful leather, some embellished in gold and silver. They hummed with magic potential, as though the spells within where hungry to spring into their new master's hands. Danuchek popped his head above the counter to try and see in, catching the shopkeeper's attention.

'And who is this fine young fellow?' he asked.

'I'm Danuchek,' he proudly announced. 'I'm four and a half.'

'Are you really?' the shopkeeper chuckled. 'Why, you're practically a gentleman!'

'He's my apprentice,' Sarkan explained. 'Agnieszka's nephew.' He plucked one book out of the box and turned it over in his hands, frowning at the inside cover.

'Anything the matter?' 

'They appear to have sent the wrong print,' said Sarkan. 'This is a twelve-twenty edition, not the revised twelve-forty.'

'Oh dear me,' the shopkeeper tutted. 'My most sincere apologies, my lord. I did make a point of it when the order was placed.'

'It's no matter. Have it exchanged for me, and I will collect it next month.'

'Very good, my lord.'

' _Orada_ ,' Sarkan muttered over the box, which faded out of view, probably to the library. The shopkeeper stood transfixed for a moment at the simple magic. 'That will be all, Brajan.'

The shopkeeper snapped out of his trance. 'Indeed, my lord. Good day to you all.'

'The man's going mad,' Sarkan muttered as the door swung shut behind us. Danuchek giggled and run ahead of us a little. 

'Don't go far!' I called out. 'Where to now?' I asked Sarkan, folding my hands behind my back, finding myself wishing we were still arm-in-arm.

'I have some tax papers to drop off at the mayor's office,' he said. 'And a letter to send to the Baroness of the Yellow Marshes.'

'Oh? What for?'

'She has asked me to support her in appealing to the king for control of the region,' he explained. 'The area has been unstable since Vladimir's death. Until the Magnati, the Regent, and the King all give their blessing, she will continue to be resisted by her people and challenged by lesser nobles.'

'But why would they challenge her when she is the baron's widow?' 

'Because she is a woman,' Sarkan answered bluntly.

'Have you offered your support?'

'Well, _yes_ ,' he answered. 'I owe her that much. But it isn't quite that simple. I fear that if the insurgency continues, or if the peasantry is unsatisfied with her control, she will end up dead.'

I recoiled from the thought of the dead baron and his men, bodies turned to heaps of ash by arcane fire, the white bricks of the tower stained red. 'We both owe her that much.'

**********

The books were waiting for us in the library when we returned, the afternoon sun casting a lazy glow through the small windows. Sarkan rifled through them, arranging them neatly in the drawers of his desk, attaching labels and marking pages. Danuchek fell asleep by the fire, exhausted from the excursion and crashing from the sugar. I watched his small chest rising and falling as I knitted, weaving magic into the work, singing it a song of heat and protection. 

I let my mind wander as I worked, the stream of magic flowing effortlessly enough with my eye taken away from it. Tomorrow I would bring my brother and his wife to the tower, the first of my family to see it, the ghostly structure that generations of valley villagers had admired and feared from afar. Perhaps my mother and father would come too, unable to see their grandson in Dvernik. How they had loathed to speak of the place, of the taken girls and the cold, ruthless Dragon in his walls of stone. My mother had been warm enough towards Sarkan at harvest-time, but it was a dutiful, humble warmth, not one of heart and substance. For all she advised me, guided me, encouraged me to show him affection, there was a bitterness beneath her words. He was still the man who stole her daughter, her only girl, put power in her hands and sent her back to her family changed, no longer one of them. Maybe I was just like all the other Dragon girls, after all. 

'These ones are for you,' Sarkan said, cutting through my thoughts. He had appeared next to me without me noticing, perched on the edge of the couch, a small stack of books balancing on one outstretched hand. I put down my knitting and took them into my own, feeling the friendly, eager spells within the tatty bindings, ready to leap into my hands. I beamed up at him.

'Thank you,' I said. 'Where did you find them?'

'Most of them are curiosities I convinced other wizards to give up from their own collections. They're no good to anyone but you.' 

'They're perfect,' I declared to myself, basking in the living power radiating from them.

His stare was intense and glittering, magic churning within the black depths of his eyes. I tried to look away but I couldn't. I had thought those eyes too dark, once, all shadow and contrast, stark and unpleasant. Now I could see that they were more like a peaceful, endless void, the darkness of sleep, or of the sky on a rainy night. His gaze wandered over me, devouring the sight of me, and I could feel the pining hunger of his magic singing back to mine. I drew in a ragged breath and his stare turned cold again as he carefully arranged his face into its state of perpetual indifference. 

'I'll be in the laboratory,' he muttered, making his way to the door, hesitating for a second. But he hurried from the room, the door clicking shut behind him. 

I let out a shuddering sigh, wishing more than ever that Kasia was here.


End file.
